Dust
by PurchasedByFools
Summary: Ivy Bean has always been hooked on the story of Peter Pan since childhood, but when she decides to grow up will Hooks last chance of peace just be a dream? He needs Ivy as she is part of an old bloodline that connects our world to Neverland, but if that connection breaks so does the portal. Technically, Ivy is the second star to the right. And she can't afford to go out.
1. Chapter 1

Every night since my birth, my mother would always tell me a story about Peter Pan and The Lost Boys before I fell asleep; Peter Pan, who refused to grow up, and his followers, who had been abandoned by their parents, all lived on a star to the right of the North on an island called Neverland where every child's dream would end up, whether a nightmare ended up at Dark Hollow or a place the child goes to think and make there own, Peter Pan was the guardian of these place and I have always thought the best of him, in this amazing place the Lost Boys would relax in the ever shining sun and play in the night, fighting the dangerous pirate, Captain Hook with their faithful pixie, Tinkerbell. Intense sword fights would break out between the two foes but however hard Hook tried and however vigilant he was in the fight, Peter would always defeat him with a little faith, trust, and pixie dust. My mother always used to finish the story with the line, "Good will always overcome evil, as long as you believe." And I did believe with all my heart. I believed that one day I'd be taken to Neverland to have great adventures and not have to worry about growing up, I believed that if I wished really hard, Pan would come and rescue me from age and fly me to the stars. But he never did came for me.

I gradually began to lose hope of ever finding Neverland, especially after my parents died in a car crash on the way to London three years ago. I had to grow up- I stopped believing in fairytales and because of it, the world I lived in seemed a lot less dangerous and exciting.

For the last three years I've been travelling from home to home, only to end up in this washed up harbour town, Red Man's Cove off the coast of Chichester. I've never stayed with one family for two long, they'd always send me back saying that I didn't try to make a connection with myself and them. What did they expect with a hormonal fourteen year old who'd just lost the two people she loved most in the world? Exactly.

After being labelled in the foster system as terminally "unadaptable to new surroundings" I've been sent to this halfway house in this dreary port town to wait out my final years before I can escape. I suppose it's not a bad set up, close to fifteen residents, non of which are interested in the girl who can get fostered but chooses not to, the staff aren't bad and get that you need t be left alone. But the house isn't the problem. It's everything else.

For example, my first day at the new secondary school here was bullshit, I take art and product design (making stuff out of raw materials) as a GCSE but have been ridiculed in both those classes when I decided to express my feelings when I woke up in hospital with a broken rib, sprained arm, black eye, and no parents. In itself, it doesn't sound so bad, but when you do that by turning all Katniss Everdeen and make a suicidal puppet of myself, hanging from a tree, creative credit doesn't seem to apply. So now I've been classed as the school freak, getting bit's of lettuce and hard spaghetti was now a daily occurrence with the girl obsessed with death- but jokes on them, because I'm not 'obsessed' with it, I'm afraid of it. Growing up physically makes me terrified, I don't know whether I got this from Peter Pan or the foreknowledge that I'm going to have to get a job and work my existence to the ground but I'm dreading having to go through that and if I ever reach thirty-five and still haven't found a way to be happy, I might just have to kill myself. Grim though- I know- but it's unfortunately true: I don't see the point of my existence. Which makes school that much harder.

Up to this very day, I've been bullied for my opinions in life, however, what made it worse was my obsession with Neverland.

I used to draw doodles of pan flutes or a glistening Hook on all my notebooks, in creative writing I wrote a poem about the Crocodiles lust for Hook's flesh including some graphic descriptions of where exactly he'd lie to sink his teeth intpo, in product design, for my final project, I made a wooden sword and a Tinkerbell charm. You can understand why my dedication to the fairytale wasn't really received positively- now I wasn't taken seriously. Part of this was another reason that I stopped believing in Pan's world: If there was one thing worse than not having anything to joke about, it was not being taken seriously as well.

My only real friend must be John, the owner of my very own Dumping Ground. He got me like no other in this fucked up town did, he also dubbed as my therapist, which I was entirely grateful for. With him, I felt like I could actually talk about the accident freely.

We were driving to London for the weekend, ready to shop for the upcoming Christmas holiday, my parents were singing along to some cheesy Christmas songs that no one will ever admit that they actually love, I was sitting in the back seat, trying not to laugh but wrongly feeling mature and obliged not to join in the childish festivities. I can only assume my parents turned in their seats to convince me to join in before we hit by an oncoming truck who had lost control over the icy road and slammed right into us.

You know the rest.

That brings me to now, on the night before my seventeenth birthday, and I couldn't be less happy, simply because I have no one, except maybe John, that I care about to share it with. The past four birthdays have never felt any different; the same crappy, shop-bought cake; the same one-off card from a relative of a great-aunt who has the heart to at least acknowledge my existence; and the same pair of socks that the foster system send- I don't think those swell birthdays can be beaten, it's a tough act to follow.

So instead of celebrating my new age and the "freedom" that comes with it, I sit in the bedroom that has the name 'Ivy Bean' on it, in the foster home that I sleep in, staring out of the small window in the cramped room that is complete with purple walls, a single bed with black sheets and a wooden dresser that has been drawn on by the kids that have slept here before me. I sit on the carpeted floor and stare up at the night sky, taking in the purple hue of the late evening. Out of habit, I imagine what my life would've been like if my parents were still alive; my dad would probably just be getting home from his job at the post office and my mum would be finishing the final touches on dinner. My dad would stroll in through the front door of our old house and walk straight to the kitchen to kiss my mother who would proceed to scold him for not taking off his dirty shoes before he came in. They performed this routine everyday without fail and knowing that I will never see them do that again is heartbreaking.

I realised a long time ago that I will never be as happy with a family as I was with them even though that is what I crave more than anything, this is partly because every time I look in the mirror, I see my mother staring back at me with her green eyes and long, black, wavy hair- so I can never truly rid myself of the image of her. As well as this, I am also pale and has a face dotted with freckles, my ears are one size to big for my head and I'm deadly thin but have accumulated an average amount of muscle due to all the running I do.

Whenever I'm frustrated or have a ridiculous amount of feelings bottle up inside me, I put on my battered blue running shoes and jog all the way down to the harbour and just sit on an empty deck, thinking ludicrous thoughts of stealing a boat and escaping the foster system and this excruciatingly boring town, maybe changing my name and making up a whole new life for myself. Nevertheless, I always put away these childish and selfish thoughts and jog the mile and a half back to the orphanage where I'd sneak in through my window which has always been broken, allowing me free access by scaling up the pipes running down the side of the house.

My thoughts leave me when I hear a knock at my door, light and quiet- everyone gets that I don't do birthdays. Crawling from my seat on the floor to the door was not a large feet to conquer as the room was two steps both ways, I reach up to the wooden handle and open the door just a crack, prepared to tell my caller where they can stick their happy-go-lucky birthday wish- I just wasn't in the mood- but was pleasantly surprised to find the hallway empty, just a mug of my favourite fruit tea. Must be the matron taking pity on me again, there are other kids to take care of, I think to myself even though I gratefully take the piping hot drink into my hands and slide back into my dark room, shutting the door firmly behind me.

I take tiny sips of my tea as I walk around my room, observing my collections, like the twisted pastel green shell that looks like an elongated dolphin that I found on the harbour a few months ago, or the gold, square buckle that pooped up two days ago on my window sill, which I assumed got there when a passing magpie dropped it. I reach my personal favourite which rests on my drawers along with the others; a single red feather that's frayed slightly- just like the one my mum always said Peter Pan wore. I've kept it close to me ever since my dad found it in the garden.

I pick up the soft feather and glide over to my bed, placing the half drunk red tea on the small bedside table, switching on the lamp as I do. I lie with my chest to the ceiling, delicately tracing the feather with a finger, I should've let go of such childish beliefs but everytime I hold the red velvet in my hands, I can't help but think back to the stories I wished were true; that there was a magical place out there for abandoned kids like me, a place for adventures and never ending happiness. Too good to be true.

As my mind drifts further, I start to nod off, which is surprising as it's only eight o'clock but my brain was too foggy to really think about it, and as close my suddenly extremely heavy eyelids I spot a faint silhouette of a man against the window and a sharp feeling of fear races up my spine, but before I can call out for help or even get a proper look at the intruder I'm out like a light.

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	2. Chapter 2

Whilst I'm blacked out I dream of the Jolly Roger. Whenever I dreamt of this setting the boat was painted a deep red and blue, with a large rear where Captain Hook's quarter was placed, with swinging lanterns either side of the bolted door. The steering wheel was large and had bronze handles. There was also a trap door where one could go below deck and enter the gun powder room, the cannon corridor or the crew's quarters. At the front of the nose was a statue of a beautiful mermaid, said to bring steady waters for the ship. However, the pirate boat in my dreams had never been this real, it felt like if I was to reach out with my hand and touch the giant mast and sails I would be able to feel the soft cotton fabric or touch the wood that been slightly hacked away by the swords and knives and arrows having being wedged into it. I could almost smell the salty air and even taste the sea water on my tongue. Stretching my ears, I could hear the faint sound of a jolly song below deck and heavy footfalls growing louder and louder as they head towards me. I start to panic, fortunately for me, knowing this was the Jolly Roger, the notorious ship whose Captain was the infamous Hook, my dream-self expected the worst, looking around I find that I was in the Captain Quarters which was plush with red velvet and a dark wooden desk ridded with maps, globes, compasses, candles and a pistol. Directly next to that was the small bunk, which had the luxury of duck feather pillows and a red, knitted blanket that I believe the crews quarter was deprived of. Grabbing the black, steel pistol, I run over to the other side of the desk, putting it between the door and me, I hide the old fashioned pistol behind my back, tucking it into the waistband of my pyjama bottoms-_ wait, pyjamas? What?_ This wasn't right, in every dream I was wearing something unfamiliar to my wardrobe, never before had I been wearing the clothes I went to sleep in. Unfortunately there was no time to replace my black and white polka dot pyjama bottoms and black tank top as the visitor was getting increasingly closer to the room, so close that in a matter of a few seconds, they would open the door. My hand clenches and unclenches in anticipation, the rocking of the ship and the oncoming threat making my stomach turn slightly, I was itching to grab hold of the only tucked away in the small of my back. The gold doorknob turns anticlockwise in a painfully slow manner, as if my tormentor wants to make my anxiety reach its maximum potential. I consider shouting at them to hurry up but decide the better plan would be to pretend I was still asleep so I hurry to leap back into the bunk and face away from the door and use my ninja focus to slow down my heart beat. I manage to do this just in time as the door suddenly swings open and my dream progresses. "My dear Ivy," the male visitor says in his truly English accent, his deep rugged voice sending warning chills down my back, don't trust him, they seem to say, act asleep, "So glad to see you're finally awake and no use pretending otherwise, one of the crew heard you rummaging around," I squeeze my eyes tighter, hoping he's bluffing and will leave alone so I can find Hook and get this dream over with; this shouldn't be so hard as all I'm looking for is a tall, skinny man with a long red coat and a perm.

Silence follows and I soon believe that the visitor has left me alone to fetch Hook or another mercenary, yet a hold my breath and keep my eyes shut a little longer, my instincts telling my the danger has not yet passed. I prove to be correct as the cold, deadly metal of a sword rest on the front of my throat, indicating that the pirate as skirted over to face me. My eyes shoot open to assess and eradicate the threat, unfortunately I'm taken by immense surprise as I'm not threatened with a dagger but with a hook.

Looking up, I expect the Captain I have grown familiar with, only to find this complete stranger with a hook for a hand. Instead of the common traits of Hook that I have grown accustomed with over the years, this pirate is tall but has limbs with defined muscle, plus his thin beard and the thick hair on his upper lip are not like the captains, greasy thin one and instead of the iconic red coat and fluffy hat, the pirate is dressed in black leather; a trench coat and trousers, as well as a red waistcoat and black tunic. The only slightly shared factor is the jet black hair, though this crew member's is short and scruffy- not long and curly.

I can barely find the strength to talk amongst the urge to run away and the confusion of my circumstances.

"Who are you?" I manage to say this simple sentence just barely, but become more confident that I'm going to live when the impostor retreats his hook slightly from my throat.

He laughs menacingly, taunting me with knowledge that I don't possess but crave. Now managing to sit up, I swing my legs over the side of the bunk, ready to run if necessary- but to where? I'm on a boat.

"Why, I'm Captain Killian Jones. So when I address you on my ship, I expect you to show the respect and reply."

Startled, I ask for the name of the ship, but somewhere deep inside me already knows the answer.

"This is the Jolly Roger, love. The fastest Pirate ship to set sail from England." This time I stand up, my bare feet hitting the cold wooden floorboards.

"But this _can't _be! _Hook_ is the captain of the Jolly Roger! This is my dream, and if Hook's the captain in my mind then he's also the captain in my dream!" Killian's laugh is no longer menacing, it's whole-hearted and loud, frightening me more than it should. When he finally gains his composure and has succeeded in making me more nervous, Killian stands upright, only noticeably closer, close enough that I can feel the edge of his trench coat brush against the top of my knee.

He looks down on me like I'm an extra puppy and he's the farmer, ready to drown me. "I see you _have _heard of me Miss Bean, and even by my more colourful nickname- Hook," he looks me up and down, my cheeks turning red, the left side of his lips turning up slightly at the shock played on my face, "and you can't even begin to comprehend how flattered I am that you've dreamt about me." He winks. I want to punch him.

I decide that I've had enough of this faulty dream and want to wake up. Shutting my eyes tight, I will myself to awake, imagining my bedroom back at the orphanage; the pillows, the feather, the… intruder? Remembrance of the event bursts back into my brain like a tornado and now I've become even more desperate to get back, but my efforts seem to be in vain.

I must've been standing like this for a while as suddenly, "Hook's" hot, earthy breath washes over my face, "What, from the star to Neverland, are you doing?" I don't give him the satisfaction of opening my eyes and finding his face directly in front of mine.

"I'm trying to wake up." I reply in the bluntest voice, as if it's obvious that he's a figment of my broken imagination.

"Well- I'm just making an educated guess here, love- but wouldn't that be a tad difficult when you're not asleep?" I can't help but open my eyes and glare at him angrily- he's messing up my focus. Only before I can retaliate he grasps my shoulder with his good hand and looks at me directly in the eyes with his sparkling dark blue ones. "What is the last thing you remember?" I can tell there's a reason why he's asking this question so I'm intrigued enough.

"I was on my bed, looking at Pe-… a _souvenir_…," hoping he doesn't notice my embarrassing slip up, I carry on, "and the next thing I know I see someone at my window and black out." If I was in the right mind set, I probably could connect the seemingly obvious dots. But I very clear wasn't as Killian is looking at me like I'm a teenage boy lost in the dark hallways of Hollister- completely and utterly lost.

"Someone at the window," Killian says in a 'Why-are-you-so-thick' voice, "Me!" he points his hook at his face and the final puzzle piece fits- only to reveal a more unbelievable and confusing picture.

I shake my head violently, refusing to believe that this, _the freaking Jolly Roger_, was real and I had been drugged and kidnapped by the _Neverland pirates_ and was standing in a confined room with _Captain-Fudging-Hook. _

"Nope. Nope. No way. You're lying. I'm dreaming. Let me go home."

"Does this really feel like a dream to you?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"_Yes._"

"I don't believe you."

"Well I don't believe _in _you." As soon as I said those words, it was like something shifted in the universe, the ship began to rock from side-to-side, gradually gaining momentum and making the now unsteady sea smash against the side of the boat. My legs turn into jelly and this time I fall with the boat, crashing into Killian's chest with a audible thump, luckily he steadies us both.

"Grab onto the leg of the desk." He orders in a now authorotive voice, the playfulness is gone, replaced by the Captain of the Jolly Roger. If I didn't know any better, one could certainly believe that he's Hook.

I do what he says and wait as he leaves the room, his footsteps making their way to where I believe the deck to be. Killian shouts orders to the crew that I can't make sense of. He swiftly returns, his person wet from the torrential rain that has started to hammer against the vessel.

"What's going on?" I ask, gripping onto the leg of the desk as the ship sways at dangerous angles.

"_You_ are what's going on." _Well that's pretty ominous_, I think to myself as I watch with curious eyes as he rummages around in a chest under the bunr.

"What do you mean?" I'm almost pleading for answers at this point: wanting to go home, wanting to know _how_ to go home.

Killian doesn't answer me as he revels in finding what he's looking for, in doing so he strides over and crouches next to me, hooking his hook around the desk leg to steady himself.

"Give me your hand." He orders in his captain voice. I respond with caution- never trust a pirate, even one in a dream.

I outstretch my palm, and in it, he places a single, gold square buckle- an identical to the one in my bedroom. I look up at him with large, confused, doe eyes, after observing the impossible- it couldn't be here, even if this is a dream, I didn't class it as anything to do with Neverland.

"How did you get this? How is this possible?" To my surprise, it almost looks like there was sympathy in his eyes, and if it's true and he's really the malicious Hook, that would be crazy. However as quickly as it appears, it's gone.

"The other one fell off my shoe outside your window, when I was scoping out how to get you out of the orphanage without alerting anyone," I glance at him accusingly and he hints a smile but then thunder cracks and Killian goes back to being serious, "but that doesn't matter at the moment, what does it that you believe that this is real. You need to _believe._" For emphasis on that large ultimatum he closes my fist around the buckle so that I can zone in on the realistic weight of the gold and the coolness of the metal, it was to real to be a dream- all of this is; the detail of the waves; the clarity of what's going on; even Hook, who's now looking at me with triumph that his plan worked. Something in my brain snaps, like a trigger on a fire alarm, that send ringing bells pounding through my ears.

This is real.

This is actually happening.

Jesus Christ on a bicycle, I'm in Neverland.

And just like that, the rain clouds disperse, letting the sunlight seep through and paint the ship, the waves calm and I am able to stand up without the threat of falling on my face.

Hook matched my motions and towered over me once more, he looked down at me with a smug smirks as he leaned on the desk, looking at me with his eyebrow turned up in a 'any questions?' way and out of all the things I could've asked, I chose, "Why me?"

Bad choice as well for his reply was, "That's for me to know, and you to find out when the time is right."

Satisfied that we weren't going to drown because of a sea storm anytime soon, Killian gets up to leave but stops directly in front of me, again, uncomfortably close. "Ivy Bean, you are a very powerful girl and you don't even know it." I tilt my head to the side in indifference.

"What do you mean? Why aren't you telling me what I need to know?" My breath was in vain though as Killian ignores me and tucks a tangles strand of my hair behind my ear.

"It means," He replies finally, wrapping his other arm around my waist and pulling me closer, sending chills up my spine and making me gasp involuntarily- there is no point denying that he is incredibly handsome for someone who's meant to have a perm, "that you're going to make a bloody good pirate." My eyes widen at his words and I immediately pledge myself to escape and find Peter Pan. "And lesson one," I feel his hook tracing a path to the small of my back, leaving a path of fire and sending chills up my back, "you can never hide a pirates treasure," in the minute it takes me to process the meaning of his words, Killian has already hooked his hook through the trigger of the once concealed pistol that I forgot all about and strolled out the room leaving a cold space in place. Standing in the same spot as I was, looking out to the wide ocean and the several rainbows that have appeared (only in Neverland) I hear the audible click of a bolt.

Neverland is real. And for some reason that I am yet to find out, I am being held prisoner.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Not really happy with this chapter- Its more like a filler. But I hope you ****can put up with it all the same.**

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_Two hours_.

Two hours I have been locked in Hook's room, and not so much as a glass of water. Now I'm not the nicest person but this is just bad manners at a whole new level.

Unfortunately for Hook, two hours has given me plenty of time to rummage through all of his stuff. Amongst some beautifully drawn maps and intricately engraved compasses, I managed to find some spare clothes; small enough that I won't trip and big enough that the fact that I'm not wearing a bra will not be made apparent. My new gear consists of a deep red tunic, with those cool puffy sleeves, tucked into some loose jeans where I've had to roll up the legs in order not to trip up, these are fastened with a black woven belt, and finally to cover up my increasing cold toes a pair of a-little-too-big ankle boots. What's got me stumped is the notion that these clothes are too small for Hook, who has to be a few years older than me, meaning that these must belong to a boy around my age- another question for Hook added to the list of many others.

In another section of two last hours gone past, I checked all my escape roots; door firmly bolted (no brainer); windows don't open (surprising considering how much these pirates love breaking in through them); and no trap door which is a necessity for all bad guys. So, yeah, that was two mille-seconds amongst every minute gone by, ever!

Next on my list was weapons, another bust. You'd expect a freaking pirate to have more than a lousy pistol in his room, wouldn't you? But no! The world doesn't want to be kind to poor old Ivy today, no, we're just gonna let some nasty pirates take her away, not even going to let her get changed, and then shove her into a cramped room with nothing but a bloody pillow to defend herself against said nasty pirates. Well, screw you, world.

So in conclusion, half of that two hours was spent actually doing something productive and the rest was me screaming frustrated sounds into a pillow whilst rolling around on the bed like a dog.

Which ultimately brings me to now, sitting crossed legged on the bunk, willing the door to open and for Hook to come in holding a tray full of water and red grapes. But knowing my luck, the only thing that will come through that door is scurvy. And that's just the birthday present I need.

I look around, trying to find something else to do. My eyes rest on a pot of ink sitting invitingly on top of the desk, I probably shouldn't, however my boredom gets the better of me and I grab the pot, a quill from the desk drawer and a piece of parchment, situate myself on the floor (my back to the door) and do what I am known to do best: I begin to draw.

If you ask any artist what it's like to draw or paint, they'll reply that they lose themselves and hardly notice the hours that have gone by. This is proven when I start to draw a mermaid, the ink making it rough but detailed at the same time. Her body is curved and her head is tilted up, her hair swishes and flows to the bottom of her tail, which is covered with shiny scales that glisten where the sun hits the water. For all I know, an hour has gone past even though it has felt like half of that.

I'm so in tune with the picture that I don't even hear the door open and end up screaming when a large guy with a red knitted hat creeps up behind me and says,

"Pretty." In my fright I end up knocking over the ink pot as it starts to spread over the floor.

"Oh God!" I announce as I quickly move my drawing away from the seeping, black mess and begin to look around for something to clear it up, "I'm sorry."

"Its quite alright, m'lady." the crew member stutters back as he grabs a cloth from under the bunk and begins to clean the sticky floor.

"Here, let me help you." Feeling guilty, I run out of the room and onto the deck, I don't have time to ponder my freedom (much to my disappointment) as I spot a bucket of water near the side of the boat and rush to grab it and get back to the room to clear the ink up. I'm cautious not to be seen by Killian as I don't want him to stab me for making his room a mess, and manage to do this by sneakily doing a ninja run back into the room, taking no time to close the door behind me and sinking to the ground next to the pirate, pouring water on the floor and dampening the cloth.

The pirates gives me a slight nod of gratitude and coyly gets back to scrubbing the floor. Another clue clicks in my brain and I burst out involuntarily, "Smee?" I exclaim as I observe the way he pushes his rounded specs back up his fat nose and the bobbing of his red hat. He inclines his head in acknowledgment and I take that as a yes.

The silence was uncomfortable and two different buckets of water and three rags later- I'd had enough.

"Why can't you talk to me?," I startle him with my sudden conversation, "Do I have bad breath? Because that's Hook's fault for not feeding me and letting my mouth fill up with sulphuric acid."

Smee was quick to answer, "I just do what I'm told,"

I raise my eyebrow, "And what were you told?"

"That I must retrieve the lady."

"And how does that keep you from talking to me?"

"Well I might tell you about the Captains plans, and he doesn't like people knowing his plans when he doesn't know that they know." _I'm sorry?_

"What plans?" This was a long shot but knowing Smee from the book, he wasn't really the brightest guy out there.

"Well the plan to use you to-" Before Smee could divulge the contents of Hook's plan he is unfortunately interrupted by the angry, booming voice of his Captain.

"SMEE!" We both sprang into action, Smee standing to attention, nervously playing with the hat that was now being wound around his fingers and me pushing the bucket out of sight and practically lying across the still visible stain on the floor, but despite our efforts, Hook didn't look convinced. "What, in the Sea God's name are you doing down here?" He turned to address Smee, pointing his hook menacingly at his nose. "I gave you one job- fetch the girl -and the next thing I know is that some of the crew members spot the lass carrying a bucket to and from my door!"

"It's my fault," I say, taking the blame, "I… spilt some ink on the floor and Smee was just trying to help me and I'm sorry I touched your stuff but I was really bored being locked up in here (I'm really annoyed about that by the way, if you want my help don't treat me like I have the plague) so don't get all "ARRGGHH, tyme to wawk da plank ya' scurvy sea dowg"…" I swear, you could hear crickets in the ocean the _silence_ was so immense, "I'm sorry, I get weird when I'm nervous."

It takes a minute or two for Hook to take in my highly dedicated speech and when he finally does he harshly orders Smee to leave the room and that poor, little, messed up guy goes running.

"You don't have to be so mean to him." I mutter, crossing my arms and kicking the dust, avoiding eye contact.

Hook gives me an exasperated sigh, "Let me tell you how we do things on my boat," _oh, wow. That didn't sound rehearsed at all_. "You do as you're told, and you don't go sticking you nose into my business."

"Even when your business is my business?"

"_Especially_ when it's also your business."

Ready to give back a snarky comments, I look up to him only to become speechless when I find we're nose to nose- him with a smirk and me with wide eyes and clenched fists. I'm beginning to hate how everytime I give him the chance he seems to avoid my personal space.

Ignoring his blatant arrogance, I place hand on his chest, about to push him away when he stops me by placing his right hand on top of mine, engulfing it in his hot palm. "You're forgiven." He whispers seductively.

"What?"

"For spilling my ink and rummaging through my things." Hook looks me up and down with a raised eyebrow, his gaze travelling from the top of my head to the leather toes of my boot, his eyes daringly faltering when he meets more... _hidden_ parts. "But I must say, I did prefer you in those lovely little undergarments you were in earlier," His right eye winks, "but maybe we could, uh, rectify that?"

My reaction is immediate- I snort. "I think you're forgetting Captain," I say whilst wiggling out of his grip and heading to the unlocked door, "that you kidnapped me and locked me in a room with no food or drink for almost four hours. So when you say that you '_prefer' _something, I'm gonna say that you can wear it yourself- black really suits you." And on that last note I leave him in the same place he left me and headed into the blissful sun and for the first time since I arrived on this ship, I finally felt like I was free.

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**Hey Guys! **

**I just want to leave you with a heads up:**

** The chapters a little shorter than I wanted it to be but the progression of the plot that I wanted to put in seems like it fits in better in the next chapter I'm working on which will be up by Saturday evening at the latest! **

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**~PurchasedByFools~**


	4. Chapter 4

wAfter finally persuading Smee to make me some food, Killian decided he was going to take lunch with me and his second in command, Damien. We were all sitting around a dark mahogany rounded table with a slightly worn top. Laid out in front of us is an array of silver cutlery and differently sized glasses: the choices are making my head spin. Making a plan of action, I choose to just copy the other two men and see which one they pick up, however before they eat they like to have a long-arse chat about nothing in particular, so whilst they're having a right old jolly and hardly touching their food, I'm sitting here staving my tits off and wondering which fork to kill myself with.  
Considering that we're out at sea, they have particularly good tastes for food, but then I guess that the nicest stuff is saved for the Captain. Smee had lovingly prepared some stove made toast and cheese as well as some red grapes. When they finally picked up the second largest fork I devoured the meal so quickly I'm surprised I was able to taste it on it's way down.  
"Did you know that it was my birthday, or was it just a lucky coincidence?" I ask when Smee came in to collect our plates.  
"It's your birthday?! My dear Ivy, you should've said, we could've baked you a cake!" Hook took another swig from his goblet, clearly impressed with his "sarcastic" comment.  
Seeing my displeased face, the second in command decided to take a different approach, Damien (who I'd only known for an hour, yet treated me more of an equal than Hook did) filled my empty goblet with some rum and raised his own, "To our special guest!" he toasted, nudging the slightly drunk Captain to join in, "A merry birthday Ivy Bean!" I could feel my face going red. Ever since my parents were killed, the thought of ageing and growing a year closer to death makes me... Well... Depressed. But this year it's different, it's almost like I'm not going to age a day. As if I'm never going to have to see another birthday.  
"Thanks... I guess." Taking a cautious sip of the rum, I squint and cringe in disgust as the strong, bitter liquid scalds my throat. I gag uncontrollably as the other two laugh, Hook reaches over the table and grabs my goblet, pouring the rest of the contents into his own. In doing so, his sleeve slips upwards slightly revealing a tattoo.  
A tilt my head in curiosity and glare at the spot where the ink was placed, "Who's Mila?" I ask. Hook hiccups and goes into a fit of coughs, spewing some of his mouthful of rum onto the table. When he recovers he glares at me with pain and I immediately regret saying anything. "I'm sorry," something made the words taste sour, as if they were a lie, "I didn't mean to strike a nerve." I felt Damien reassuringly pat my knee under the table when Hook inclined his head dismissively, making my teeth grind- I just didn't want to be around him when he's moody.  
I excuse myself, not bothering to waste my breath on thanking Killian for his truly comforting company.

Making my way up to the deck, the cool breeze drifted its way around my body, temporarily cooling the blistering heat that has imbedded its way into my jeans and and ripples swam over the sparkling sea, the cool evening sun making the sky and the waters a beautiful sight to behold. I lean on the side of the boat, my head resting on my fist, taking in the fresh, natural smells of salt and sea, being lulled into a daze by the repetitive sounds of the water hitting the side of the boat. The men had retired below deck for the night, and the faint tune of a lute had floated its way up to wash my ears with sweet music. Yes, I was definitely content with my freedom. So much so that I was shocked to feel a tap on my shoulder, breaking the illusion that I was somehow in charge of my life.

Killian, clearly over our little disagreement, sauntered up beside me and vacated the space next to mine. I sigh, turn around and lean on the edge with my elbows, choosing to watch the sails sway in the breeze the acknowledge his presence. He chuckles at my defiance- I grit my teeth.

"What a fine view, my Lady. So glad I am able to spend it with you." I note the blatant sarcasm. Ignoring his comment, I change the subject to benefit my circumstances,

"Can you tell me what you're going to with me?" Despite my serious tone he smirks and touches his lip like he's thinking amusing thoughts.

"I can tell you what I _want _to do with you…" I can't help but smile now, he clearly finished the rum before following me out here, I'm getting used to the creepy comments. Turning my head, I see him laughing too, and like the lute, it calms me.

Now before, when I first woke up, I commented on how Killian was handsome, but _now_ looking at him when I don't want to stab him with a fork and in this enchanting light, he looks _really good._

Stubble laced his chin and upper lip, his black tunic was left bare, leaving some of his chest bare, I couldn't help imagining… _Ivy! No! Bad, Ivy! _

To make things worse I think he saw me checking him out like an obsessed school girl as he had noticeably moved closer.

"You know," He murmurs, his eyes never leaving my lips, "the waves would be much calmer if you just trusted me." I smile with one side of my face, disbelieving that trusting could come with a happy ending.

"Okay…" Now it was his turn to disbelieve, and, as it seems, to lean in.

Hook's full, pink lips were taking the space between us in their stride. He was so close, _so close_, that I could smell his earthy, sea scent as it seeped into my nostrils, momentarily hypnotising me and for a moment, a _tiny moment_, I almost let him kiss me. However, if there was anything I learned from Wendy Darling, it was never give the kiss away. "On one condition," Hook groans loudly, rolling back to imitate what I did to him earlier, "tell me your plans." His move. The pirate laughs loudly, making the floor vibrate slightly- I don't know whether I'm being mocked or if he's doing that to mock himself.

"Truthfully, I need you for revenge."

_How am I not surprised?_ "Revenge on who?"

"A crocodile."

"Okay… where are you taking me?"

"To a pixie."

"Pixie? What's go-" He places his hook an my mouth, shutting me up.

"I think that's enough for one night, don't you think?" I knock his arm away and nod reluctantly, not wanting to take advantage of his sudden freedon of speech. Instead of fully taking away his hook however, he transports it to my arm, stroking it up and down and up my skin, sending chills up my spine, "Unless of course, there's something better you'd like to do this fine eve?" My move, and his move doesn't work like it did this morning, I manage to step away playfully. His move.

Killian rubs his eyes in frustration. "You're a tricky one, my dear Ivy, but I love a challenge." My move.

"Okay, if you want me to trust you completely…" I smile devilishly, "here's challenge one: I'm going to take your bed for the night," he raises his eyebrows suggestively, foolishly thinking I'm done, "and to allow me to trust you Captain, you're not allowed in." Check mate.

Let me just say that I am thoroughly pleased with myself, I even feel like I can survive here. Hook on the other hand, looks like he's stuck between wanting to throttle me and wanting an ice-cold shower.

Satisfied with the evenings accomplishments, I push my body up from the ship's side, ready to retire to bed only to be stopped by Hook's strong body, pressing up against mine. This knocks me off balance and I'm momentarily frozen, my body wanting more but my conscience telling me to flee.

"Lesson number two lass, _never_ tell a pirate what he can't have- it only makes him want it more." Time for round two.

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**What's up everybody?**

**Sorry it's a twincy bit late, got a mild case of writers block and rushed to publish so I'm sorry if you find any mistakes as I'm a quick typer and don't notice plus I'm mostly doing it on my phone and that is more difficult than you can imagine.**

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**~PurchasedByFools~**


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